On Pretension

New perfumes! New perfumes! Let's get unwrapping and see what we've got.

Lovely. Rose Noir, Eau de Parfum, nice classy white box. No problems there other than it's huge compared to a bottle of perfume. What's inside?

Er... another box. Good good. With some symbolism. A crown, and a Trivial Pursuit counter, and a thing that's a bit like an aleph with an extra bit. Now we have to break two seals to get in.

Bottle, excellent. What's that on the right?

Oooh, a tiny envelope! Maybe it's ingredients? That would be boring. Or a nice little message from Gorman? Perhaps thanking me for buying his lovely fragrance, like you get with Amouage?

The text reads:

The edges of its petals begin to blacken, and yet the classic damascene rose is no less beautiful--its scent no less evocative. But of what? Not of innocence, nor prurience. No, it's something subtler, something sophisticated yet animal, the aura of Baudelaire. The rarest flowers mingling their fragrance. The Oriental splendor, might whisper: restraint and order, bless; luxury and voluptuousness.

Oh, for god's sake, what the hell is that all about? Why is it that, so often, people writing about perfume descend into rubbish (and slightly illiterate) fifth-form poetry? It's not even poetry, it's faux poetry - fridge poetry, the Vettriano of poetry. It is utterly pretentious and awful. I can just imagine the copywriter staring dreamily at the Lady of Shalott poster above their desk and composing their horrible prose. "It smells of roses... no... too abrupt. It smells of the scent of roses carried on the breeze... much better! What kind of breeze? Oh... It smells of the scent of roses carried on the breath of lovers... wonderful! 'Smells' is clumsy... how about... It resonates with the scent of roses carried on the breath of tragic lovers... I'm a genius."

So much writing about perfume is packed with these kinds of adolescent flights of fancy which tell you nothing whatsoever about how the bloody thing smells. I'm not suggesting that we should replace all perfume writing with dry lists of ingredients, but that we should use comparisons that have meaning - does it smell of libraries? Does it make you think of the sea? Does it remind you of a walk in the woods in the summer? Maybe. Does it whisper 'restraint and order'? Is it evocative of the aura of Baudelaire? I doubt it. I hate it when I spot a piece on perfume and discover, upon reading, that it's nothing about perfume at all, but rather a piece of GCSE-level free association with all the sophistication of My Chemical Romance lyrics.

Let's see how Frédéric Malle does it, shall we?



A black box. With a bottle in it. Full marks to Monsieur Malle.